Gerik woke to the familiar creak of the roof beams overhead. Dawn light sliced through the narrow gaps in the shutters, painting thin gold lines across the rough plank floor of their small home in Thornvale. He lay motionless for several long breaths, letting the sounds of the waking village filter in: distant rooster calls, the low murmur of neighbors drawing water from the well, the occasional clatter of a cart wheel on packed dirt. Beside him, Remia slept on her side, one arm draped across his chest, her dark hair fanned out like spilled ink on the faded pillow. At twenty-six, Gerik had grown accustomed to these quiet mornings, the brief illusion that the world beyond their walls had not yet turned hostile.

  He shifted carefully so as not to wake her and sat up. The muscles in his shoulders protested ; yesterday's hunt had left bruises where a feral boar's tusk had grazed him. He reached for the dagger on the stool beside the bed, running a callused thumb along the worn hilt. The blade was plain steel, no enchantments, no runes. Just iron. Reliable. Iron never forgot a grip, never forgot a kill.

  The house smelled of dried herbs, woodsmoke, and the faint sweetness of Remia's lavender soap. Gerik pulled on his boots, laced them tight, then shrugged into his leather jerkin. The garment was patched in a dozen places, each mend a memory of a job finished or survived. He glanced back at Remia. She stirred, eyes fluttering open.

  "Early again," she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

  "Always is." He crossed to her side, knelt, and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Go back to sleep. I'll be back before dark."

  She caught his wrist. Her fingers were warm, strong despite their slender appearance. "The notice board?"

  "Deserter. Easy coin."

  Her thumb traced the old scar along his forearm. "Nothing's easy anymore."

  He leaned down and kissed her forehead, lingering there. "I'll be careful."

  Remia watched him strap the dagger to his belt, then rose and padded barefoot to the hearth. She stirred the embers, added kindling, and set a small iron pot to heat. Gerik lingered in the doorway a moment longer, watching the way the firelight caught the curve of her neck, the way she moved with the same quiet efficiency she brought to everything. Three years married, no children yet. They had talked about it once, in the weeks after the last collector visit when hope still felt possible. Now those conversations stayed unspoken, buried under the weight of monthly dread.

  Outside, the air was sharp with autumn chill. Thornvale huddled against the foothills, its stone-and-thatch houses clustered like wary animals. Soul stones lay beneath the soil here,blue veins of power that drew the Emperor's gaze month after month. Gerik walked the narrow lanes, boots crunching on frost-rimed gravel. Villagers nodded as he passed but kept their eyes averted. No one spoke of the collectors aloud anymore. Speaking invited them sooner.

  The Daylight Order post stood in the center square: a weathered board nailed to an ancient oak. Gerik scanned the fresh parchments. A C-rank wolf pack clearance; too low pay. An A-rank rogue elementalist in the caves,tempting, but too far. Then the deserter notice: young man, imperial levy runaway, last seen in the southern woods. Fifty silver. Enough for winter stores, enough for the new cloak Remia refused to ask for.

  He tore the sheet free, folded it, and tucked it inside his jerkin. The hunt would take most of the day. Good. Motion kept the thoughts at bay.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  He retrieved his horse from the lean,to behind the house...a sturdy bay gelding named Cinder,and rode south. The trail wound through pine and birch, the ground soft under hoof from recent rain. Gerik kept his senses open: snapped twigs, scuffed moss, the faint stink of unwashed wool and fear-sweat. The deserter was careless. By noon Gerik found the camp in a shallow ravine. A thin thread of smoke rose from a smoldering fire. The boy sat hunched over it, imperial musket across his knees.

  Gerik dismounted silently, tethered Cinder out of sight, and circled wide. He moved like a shadow among the trees, dagger drawn but held low. The deserter never heard him coming. One moment the boy was poking the fire; the next Gerik's arm locked around his throat from behind. The musket clattered to the dirt.

  "Please," the boy gasped. "I couldn't..I couldn't stay..."

  Gerik tightened his grip. "Should've thought of that before you ran."

  The struggle was short. A knee to the back, a twist, the dagger sliding clean across the throat. Blood sprayed in a brief arc, steaming in the cool air. The boy slumped. Gerik wiped the blade on the dead man's cloak, sheathed it, then bound the corpse across Cinder's saddle. Fifty silver. Another mark on the tally he carried in silence.

  The ride back felt longer. The sun slid toward the western ridges, painting the hills in blood and amber. Gerik's ribs ached where the boar's tusk had clipped him yesterday; now fresh bruises bloomed from the brief fight. He thought of Remia waiting, of the stew she would have simmering, of the way she would pretend not to notice the blood on his hands until he washed it off.

  As he crested the final rise overlooking Thornvale, the wrongness hit him like a fist.

  No smoke rose from chimneys. No voices carried on the wind. The square lay empty except for three dark shapes at its center.

  Two collectors in long black cloaks stood motionless. Between them crouched three chimeras : lion haunches, serpent tails, bat wings folded tight against scaled backs. Blue soul stones throbbed in their foreheads like cold hearts.

  And kneeling before them, wrists bound with black cord, head bowed, was Remia.

  Gerik's stomach dropped. He swung down from Cinder, boots hitting dirt hard. The horse shied at the scent of the chimeras. Gerik drew his dagger without thinking.

  One collector lifted a gloved hand. "Hold, hunter. This is the Emperor's due."

  Remia's head jerked up. Her left eye was swelling shut, lip split and crusted with blood. "Gerik," she rasped. "Run."

  He took a step forward.

  The second collector chuckled, low and wet. "He won't run. They never do."

  A chimera slunk forward, claws clicking on stone. Its nostrils flared, tasting the air. The first collector made a small gesture. The beast lunged.

  Remia screamed as talons opened her shoulder. Cloth parted, flesh parted, blood welled dark and fast. She swayed but did not fall. Gerik roared and charged. The other two chimeras moved like lightning, wings snapping open, forcing him back. One tail whipped across his chest; ribs cracked audibly. He staggered, gasping.

  "Watch," the first collector said. "The Emperor sends his regards."

  They worked methodically.

  A claw dragged across Remia's thigh; shallow, deliberate, enough to hurt without killing. She bit her lip until fresh blood welled. Another slash across her forearm. Blood dripped steadily, pooling beneath her knees. She lifted her gaze to Gerik's. Pain etched every line of her face, but her eyes burned.

  "Don't look away," she whispered.

  He couldn't.

  The collector with the thin silver blade stepped closer. He traced the edge along her collarbone, pressing just enough to draw a thin red line. Remia shuddered, breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The chimeras circled tighter, growling low in their throats, tails lashing.

  Gerik threw himself forward again. A paw slammed down on his shoulder, driving him to his knees. Claws pricked skin through leather. He snarled, straining against the weight.

  The blade plunged slowly into Remia's side. She arched, a raw, tearing sound ripping from her throat. The collector twisted once, then withdrew. Blood gushed, soaking the front of her dress. She sagged, held upright only by the ropes.

  "Gerik..." Her voice was small now, fading.

  He crawled, dragging himself inch by inch. The chimera pressed harder, pinning him flat. Dust and blood filled his mouth.

  Remia looked at him one final time. Her lips moved. "I love you."

  The collector struck again; higher this time, under the ribs. Remia's body jerked once, then went still. Her head lolled forward. Blood continued to drip, slower now.

  Silence stretched.

  The collector nudged her with a boot. No response.

  "Leave him breathing," the first said. "Let the lesson sink in."

  They mounted their black horses. The chimeras fell in behind. Hooves and claws receded down the southern road until only echoes remained.

  The square emptied of everything but the dying light and the scent of copper.

  Gerik dragged himself to Remia. He gathered her into his arms, heedless of the blood soaking through his clothes. Her body was already cooling. He rocked her gently, face buried in her hair. The dagger lay forgotten in the dirt beside him.

  Night crept in. Stars appeared overhead, cold and indifferent. Somewhere far off, a chimera howled,a long, mournful sound that rolled across the hills.

  Gerik did not move.